Third division football?
A distinct possibility
As North London disappeared in the fog.
Well in need of the windfall
That’s an on the road victory
The Special clunked out of Kings Cross.*
We were banking
On so and so losing
Our own fate was no longer in hand
If they won we’d be landing
In the proverbial, not of our choosing
A desperate place for proud fans.
In our minds
We became our side’s manager
The emphasis placed on attack.
By and by
We resigned and stood looking in anger
Should one man absorb all that flak?
Who’d start in the crunch match?
Would he gamble on youth?
Or stick with an old wizened head.
Rumour was rife in the carriages
Butch Wilkins was leaving us soon
For United the grapevine had said.
Danny Blanchflower strode tense
Down the touchline
Did he need this at his time of life?
At best common sense
Should have shown him the light
“Go home and spend more time with your wife”.
We were taking a beating
Which could have been worse
If the home side had been bang on form.
When the skies above Shrewsbury
Reverberated in verse
From West Londoners down on a jaunt.
Was a four nought conclusion
We were beaten and we put up our hands
Though not in surrender
More a way of enthusing
We clapped loudly and cheered in the stands.
Gay Meadow public
Were totally baffled
These Londoners had right lost the plot.
On the end of a drubbing
At least we had battled
Which us Blues fans respected a lot.
A big lump in me throat?
Yeah I had one of them
As I stood with the faithful head high.
And watched eighteen stone blokes
In Gay Meadow’s away end
Wipe emotional tears from their eyes.